78 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



that Sally S wished to speak to me ; but 



it must be in private. 1 immediately sent 

 for her into the dining-room ; and on my 

 entering, she burst into tears. She hoped I 

 would not think she had taken a liberty, but 

 she could not rest until she had shown her 

 feelings in some other way than by words, 

 for the service your papa had rendered her ; 

 she must implore and intreat that I would 

 do her the favor to accept a patchwork quilt, 

 which she had begun in her youth, and oc- 

 casionally added to. She entreated that it 

 might be used on the bed of my eldest son, 

 then a boy of five years (now the writer of 

 this), that I might, when I looked at it, 

 think of her, and say ' there is at least one 

 grateful person in the world, and that is poor 

 Sally S- ! ' 



" I did accept her proffered gift, and that 

 same quilt has covered all my children in 

 succession. How frequently, when in sick- 

 ness, has poor Sally volunteered to fetch the 

 medicines at any hour of the night — and on 

 several occasions been rewarded on entering 

 the sick room by seeing her own quilt on the 

 bed! 



" Some years ago, poor Sally was seized 

 with an apoplectic fit ; and as your papa was 

 passing along the street, he found her lying 

 speeehless on the ground with the letters in 

 her hand (she was just about to deliver 

 them). He assisted to get her to her home, 

 and was afterwards a constant attendant on 

 her. This appeared to give her great satis- 

 faction, until she breathed her last ; though, 

 poor creature, she was unable to express her 

 feelings ! 



" A few days subsequently, your papa 

 buried her by the side of her husband, over 

 whom he had also performed the same solemn 

 service only a few years before. I shall 

 never forget poor Sally's gratitude, and shall 

 preserve that quilt as long as I live." 



C. F. T. Y. 



StocJdeigh Pomeroy, Devon. 



BEGONE DULL CAKE ! 



The laughing earth hath gleams of mirth 



To hearts that, heedful, mind them : 

 'Tis only those who dream of woes 



That are most sure to find them. 

 A wiser plan 'twould be for man 



To wear the cap of folly, 

 Than pass through life the prey of strife, 



Or slave to melancholy. 



Then laugh who will there's plenty still, 



In this bright world to cheer us ; 

 'Tis friendly smiles our thoughts beguile, 



'Tis love to home endears us. 

 The heart can rise to summer skies, 



Though winter's snows be gathered ; 

 Let mirth prevail where care assails, — 



Then every storm is weathered! 



■C. s. 



NOTES FOR NATURALISTS. 

 A REMINISCENCE. 



It was a beautiful May morning, — the 

 first of May in the year of grace forty-four 

 — when the Naturalists' Club assembled at 

 Etal, the loveliest village of our plain. So 

 gay and happy with its parterres and green 

 lawn, and broad walks, and trees, and ruins, 

 and the hall, that I ween a prettier village 

 may not well be seen anywhere. It does 

 one good to visit that florulent village. The 

 zephyr, too, full of fragrance, that came 

 upon us, sunning from a thousand blossoms, 

 gave a whet to the appetite ; and the call 

 to breakfast hurried us from these aerial 

 essences to a substantial fare. The hearty 

 and social meal over, we again sallied fortli 

 to saunter a-field, amid such wildnesses as 

 modern agriculture permits, — in meadows 

 and woods, in brakes and deans, and 



By shallow rivers, to whose falls 

 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 



Away we went — all chatting — few listen- 

 ing, — the admiration of every ruddy-cheeked 

 lass, and the wonder of every Colin Clout, — 

 a queer group, as pied in dress, and cast 

 in as many characters as a strolling 

 company ; the clerical suit of sober black 

 mellowed and relieved by the freckled and 

 chequered sporting jackets that suit so well 

 this holiday. The village is left ; and the 

 lane leads us, by an abrupt turn, down to 

 the rat-rattling mill, — all grey and dusty, 

 and quite a picture. There was the lusty 

 miller, leaning on the half-shut door, eyeing 

 us complacently; while the two cats that 

 bask at his feet seemed to be half alarmed 

 at the novel rout. 



How hurriedly the water runs from 

 beneath that heavy revolving wheel, as if it 

 were glad to have escaped from thraldom 

 and from under the wheel of torture ; and 

 how does the eye seek relief from the pain- 

 ful image in the caul beyond, over which the 

 river rolls itself, in a round and oily wave, 

 into the linn beneath, — where, fretted by the 

 fall, it ruffles itself into a white foam, and 

 murmurs (not loud and scarcely displeased) 

 at the accident and delay ! After a short 

 whirling play, the water goes on in a smooth 

 and placid flow. This, after a space, 

 quickens into a tumbling, battling stream ; 

 as if suddenly become conscious that it had 

 dallied here too long, and must make up for 

 the lost time. 



"We take the hint, and we start to follow 

 the river, leading by a pathway, which the 

 inscription, carved on a rock in rustic fashion, 

 informs us was made by my Lord Frederick 

 Fitzclarence, — not for our ease, who are all 

 too regardless of a trespass. So onward we 

 saunter, changing companions as whim and 

 chance dictate, — now in front, now lost in 



